


Life Imitates Art

by theveryhassledwriter



Category: Original Work
Genre: Music, Other, Politics, Short Stories, explorative literature, inspired by songs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29314320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theveryhassledwriter/pseuds/theveryhassledwriter
Summary: A collection of short stories inspired by songs. Some will get political, others won't. Enjoy!





	Life Imitates Art

_April 29, 1992_  
  
The hot summer nights in L.A. were never truly quiet. There was always the hum of cars passing through, music playing.  
  
But tonight was a different kind of loud.  
  
Tonight was full of outraged cries and the sound of breaking glass. Tonight was full of anger like nothing Amanda had ever seen before.  
  
Amanda's own anger joined the rest. Fresh out of college, she'd submitted a resume to her dream job, and got accepted. But then when she came in for her first day, the manager told her to get out.  
  
That was a risk of being a black girl with a white girl's name.  
  
So she had been angry long before she heard about Rodney King on the television, long before those hyenas in uniform were acquitted, and long before her daddy decided it was time to damn well do something about it.  
  
And so here they were, in her daddy's car. Mama had stayed home, but she promised she'd be waiting with bandages. She tried to get Amanda to stay too, but Amanda would have none of it. The car was deathly silent, unlike their surroundings, and it stayed deathly silent as her daddy parked it a few miles away from the city and got out. Amanda got out too, and she and her daddy each took two cans of kerosene. Its acrid smell burned Amanda's nose, but no more than the acrid smell of hate did.  
  
She guessed she must look out of place, in her spotless overalls and the faded Spice Girls t-shirt that went underneath. Her coily hair was bunched into a ponytail behind her; she saw no point in braiding it when she'd have to wash kerosene and ash out of it later. They didn't have long til the hyenas showed up, she figured. Maybe an hour or so. Her daddy pointed to a building ahead, some fancy white-owned supermarket. The owner had put out signs in the store windows saying to acquit those officers. Guess he got his wish- but those signs would be ash with the rest of the building soon. Amanda hefted a can of kerosene and kicked the door, shattering the glass. Her daddy gave her a strangely proud look as she reached through the broken glass to unlock the door. She walked in and nodded to him.  
  
From there, they split up. Her daddy walked around the white-brick walls, pouring that kerosene along the pretty rosebushes. Amanda, on her own, walked up and down the aisles of the store, humming some aimless tune while kerosene sprinkled onto the linoleum. She left a trail like a slug would- the thought made her laugh, thinking about one of the slugs from Mama's garden setting fires. When she was sure each and every aisle had kerosene on its floors, she reached into her front pocket for the matchbook her daddy gave her, making sure to continue the trail of kerosene all the way out the door.  
  
She struck the match with a kind of vindictiveness, almost bending the wooden stick. For a moment, Amanda watched the flame flicker, as if watching the fate of the supermarket itself. And then, once her daddy was there, she dropped it, without hesitation.  
  
It was almost intoxicating, watching that flame roar to life and dance along the trails of kerosene. But her daddy was saying it was time to go, so she reluctantly picked up the other can of kerosene and followed after him to the next building.  
  
There really was no smell like kerosene, she thought to herself. Smelled like revenge.


End file.
